The Service at Fantasia
by Katalia1215
Summary: The Fantasia Hotel, the gateway to escape for the upper class.  Arthur Kirkland was one of the many seekers of such an elusive feeling, and what he'll find will be far different from what the place has to offer.


_The Service at Fantasia_

Worries and troubles are a two way road, I'll have you know.

Yes, the qualms of the working class are rightfully justified. Working long hours in the office, field, the textile house, café, fish markets, these are just some of several reasons for one to seek reprieve.

How would they go about this then? You and I might as well clearly know the answer: see the newest film in the theatre, a stroll in the park, drinking out, dining with a dame.

Simple pleasures to ease ourselves a bit.

But that leaves us to wonder: What about the other side?

The Upper Class.

No, I'm not trying to persuade you to their sob stories. All in all, we believe their lives to be easy and pleasant, with all the money and luxuries abound. Truth be told they do have problems, scratch that, dilemmas: the mafia after their heads, a pugnacious daughter going unmarried, your only heir eloping with some 2 cent parlor gal, or just the stress of being rich. For some odd, unexplainable reason even they have the want to escape.

Here is the question we of the standard class cannot answer, my dear readers.

How do the upperclassmen seek relaxation?

Today I am lucky enough to offer you a window into their exclusives lives.

The Fantasia Hotel.

Just as it names conjures, the Fantasia is indeed a fantasy, to _our _eyes especially.

The outside architecture would itself leave us wordless. A massive, palace like structure styled with high, Roman beams at its entrance. The building sported high, iron laced glass windows standing out strikingly against the white concrete. Several facades and murals of angels, horses, gods, and flowers artfully sculpted into the concrete work of the building, a beautiful garden with a lovingly flowing water fountain, complete with its own mistress pouring water from her pitcher. Green grass rimming, rose bushes encircling the whole section, dotting the green grass with red, white, pink, and yellow jewels. A fully paved driveway. At its entrance front there is a pure marble staircase, graciously adorned with a crimson and gold Persian rug. Standing at attention by the painted glass doors are bellboys, dressed in crisp white pants, and finely tailored black coats with Chinese collars and brass button embellishments. All waiting for even faintest utterance of a whim.

The Fantasia Hotel attracted escapers from all over, foreigner and city goer alike. Today was no exception.

A sleek, black cab pulled up to the Fantasia's entrance. First the chauffeur steps out, and then he proceeds to open the master's door, in a practiced elegant motion, complete with a bow and wave of the hand.

Out from the cab comes Arthur Kirkland, second heir to the Kirkland Publishing Company, an empire if I would say so myself. The Kirkland's reach had already spread far out from their territory of England to farther endeavors like Germany, Italy, and yes, even America.

Arthur Kirkland stood pensively in front of the staircase for a moment, already judging the worth of this luxurious establishment, considering its high appeal to the people of his circle.

"Well, tend to my bags you gits," he snapped out towards the bellboys.

In the flurry of a few seconds, a young man presented himself to Arthur Kirkland. He tipped his black and gold rimmed cap to Athur.

"At your service, sir!" the young bellboy said.

He barely batted an eye to the service.

"Now, you damn wanker. Be careful not to break anything in those leather boxes. Their contents are worth more than your worthless self."

Arthur Kirkland ascended the stairs of the Fantasia, holding his head high, a practiced must to the rich. He barely took note of the young boy as he carried all three of his cases in his arms and followed suit behind him, never tripping once.

The door man opened the way for him, and Arthur stepped through the frame, excluding a thank you from his agenda.

The entrance hall was just as grandiose as the outsides. A high, arched ceiling adorned with more sculptures and an antique chandelier, a grand staircase that split in the center for the full marble reception desk. The staircase was enrobed in more Persian rug and had black iron railings that formed multiples swirls and loops. All the furnishings on the marble floors were of the finest upholstery and mahogany wood, and all the guests were equally dressed in fine garments.

Arthur approached the receptionist.

"Arthur Kirkland, reserved for a nights stay in the Marquis room," he said indignantly.

Well, of course the "service" would be used to the haughty nature of people such as these. She simply smiled and handed him a key, "Room 15, 3rd floor."

"Quit faffing, boy," he spat towards the bellhop.

After making way to his suite, and setting all his belongings down, the bellboy stood at the entrance of Arthur's room.

"Anything else. Sir?"

Arthur regarded him sarcastically, "Why yes, get the bloody hell out of my sight."

And with that, the bellboy took his leave without even the slightest rebuke, though he did have a smirk about him.

At once Arthur flopped himself down onto the white silk sheets of his queen sized bed.

"Bloody yanks, bloody New York City, how is any sane man to catch a feather at rest in this hell," he murmured to himself.

The young master's situation was as simple as this: he had made some snaky comment at his father, earned some wonderfully worded threats and screams, and had immediately escaped the man in favor of a few nights at the Fantasia (of course, all paid by with his father's money).

After freshing himself up in the washroom, Arthur redied himself for his late lunch. He dressed himself in fine beige pants, waistcoat and golden chain, white button down, and knee high leather boots. He stared at himself in the mirror and took in his forest green eyes, and messy sand blond hair (and his oddly bushy eyebrows), not to mention his obvious scowl.

After deeming himself ready, he traversed out his room to the Fantasia's restaurant.

Arthur had opted out of dining at the French restaurant that the establishment included. He refused to stomach anything made by those frogs hands.

Instead, he took a seat in the dining hall that overlooked the man made lake that it overlooked. At his table was a cup of earl grey tea, and a plate of fish and chips.

He took in the other fellow guests in the dining hall with a bored expression. He recognized a German politician, a famous Austrian pianist and composer, a famed Polish fashion designer, and so forth.

But his eyes fell upon young man standing unobtrusively at the bar counter. He was finely, yet dressed (though more subdued) just as any other guest would be here. Fine black slacks and brown leather Oxford shoes, a simple light blue button down shirt, suspenders.

But it was the young man's blue eyes that had caught Arthur's eyes. If he hadn't known any better, he would've sworn that he was staring into the cloudless sky, even though they were behind half rimmed glasses.

The young man took notice of Arthur's gaze, and then he began to approach his table.

Arthur's heart picked up a pace as the man's face came further into his view. Short, sunny blond hair, with an endearing bundle sticking up near his forehead, thereby defying gravity. And the smile on his handsome face…He was smiling brighter than the sun by the time he was standing before Arthur.

He extended his hand to Arthur, "Alfred F. Jones, a pleasure to meet you."

Arthur stuttered a few unintelligent phrases, before finally collection himself (but not hiding the shade of pink on his cheeks).

He grasped the man's stronger, tanned hand with his porcelain hand with slim fingers.

"Arthur Kirkland, a pleasure," he managed to stammer out.

Alfred's grin only grew wider. He took a seat opposite of Arthur.

Not knowing how to start this tete a tete, Arthur fidgeted uneasily.

"So what brings you to the Fantasia?" Alfred broke out.

"Oh me, well I'm just seeking some rest. And you sir?" Arthur inquired.

Alfred let out a joyful, if not reluctant, laugh. "Well sir, I'm what you'd call…a regular here! Don't worry, I've seen your type around here all the time. We all need that escape every once in a while."

"If only if it were that easy. Sometimes, I wish I could just escape all this argy bargy of a life and live the working man's life. At least something more worthwhile than smiling for damn airheads that don't a two pence about you, but just you assets."

Alfred smiled at Arthur. "Yeah, we all feel that way. But sometimes, getting out and forgetting it all is the best way to try and stop those clouds. Hell, frankly that's why I'm always here. Trying to get a glimpse of peace. It's a damn hard thing to ace these days!"

And so continued the conversation between the two. Arthur told Alfred of his family's business, and Alfred responded by telling his business.

"I'm in the aviation business. Parts and planes and all that fun. Heck, probably that plane you took over here was built using my designs!"

Arthur flashed a genuine smile, and took his word for it.

"Hey, I've got an idea. What say you to a night in town?"

Arthur happily agreed.

The two had spent the night away dancing at a local New York club, a place only the true of spirit would fine.

Arthur clumsily fell in step with Alfred as they danced to the fast tempo of the bass and trumpets, never once removing his gaze from Alfred's eyes. Though he stepped on Alfred's feet plenty of time (all he knew were the classical dances!). In the rush of the night, no one took notice of the two young men dancing together. Besides, the two were entranced in their own little fantasy. Just the two of them, escaping from their troubles without a care in the world.

"Having fun Arthur?" Alfred yelled over the swinging music.

Arthur smiled sheepishly and leaned into his shoulder.

"Of course I am, you git!"

After a few beers for Alfred, and a bit _too _much rum for Arthur, the two returned to the Fantasia, or rather Alfred carried back a drunken Arthur.

Alfred smiled at Arthur, causing him to hiccup and blush.

He randomly muttered something about the hotel not having any marmite.

He opened the door to room 315 and then set Arthur down on the bed.

"Sweet dreams, Arthur." Alfred placed a kiss on his forehead, and then he was gone.

O1O1O

The next morning, Arthur awoke to the sun filtering through his bedroom window. He found it odd that he was back in his room.

"Maybe Alfred brought me back…" But then he realized he never told him which room.

Already set before Arthur's bed was a dining cart. Upon further inspection, underneath the silver cover was fresh toast, eggs, and a jar of marmite.

He smiled.

After taking his breakfast, Arthur dressed himself for the day, and immediately set out for the dining hall, in hopes of finding Alfred there. But when this proved to no avail, he decided to turn towards the entrance hall.

As he walked down the hallways of the Fantasia, he could hear the yelling of a man getting louder and louder.

He peered around the corner of the hall, so as to catch a glimpse of the scene.

A novel scene indeed.

There in front of the main desk stood a portly man, balding, hollering his face tomato red.

But it was who he was yelling at that caught Arthur's attention.

It was Alfred.

But instead of dressing in the fine garments of the upper-class, he wore the white pants and black jacket of the hotel's bellboys.

Arthur stared unbelievingly at Alfred, his green eyes getting wider and wider by the second.

"Dammit Jones!," the portly man hollered. "This is what I get for hiring some random punk from the bricks? Not only have you skipped out on work yesterday, but you broke into a guest's room and stole some clothes!"

Alfred backed up and raised his hands defensively. "I didn't mean any harm sir! I even had the clothes washed and pressed!" Alfred tried to laugh, but it choked halfway though.

"I don't give a damn hell where you've been Jones, or what you did with those clothes. But one thing for sure, you're FIRED!"

"But boss-"Alfred's whine was cut off by an unintelligible yell from the boss.

"Better turn in em' uniforms of yours!"

All the guests of the Fantasia were appalled at the scene, and some had the gall to snicker at his misfortune. But Arthur walked towards Alfred in a trance like state.

Alfred raised his head at the sight of Arthur, but his blue eyes clouded a bit with guilt.

"Th-that is not true Alfred? It can't-"

Alfred raised his hand to Arthur, stopping him.

He took off his cap and bowed to Arthur in his professional service manner, and settled for kneeling on one knee.

"I apologize for deceiving you Mr. Kirkland."

"Wha-what?" Arthur yelled out.

Alfred stood again, and flashed a sad smile. This time when he spoke, he spoke without his respectful tone.

"S'bout time I set things straight with you Mr. Kirkland. You can sure as heck believe that my name is Alfred F. Jones, but I'm no expert engineer. Hell, flying's just a dream of mine I've had since I was a kid. I'm just a bellboy, the one that carried your luggage. Nothing more than that. I'm not trying to pull one over you, but I want to tell you something that's true. I enjoyed every bit of time I spent with you."

Arthur stood there, shocked. But when his mind finally sparked a bit, he said to Alfred.

"Why?"

Alfred tried to smile again, a little bit grimly. "You know the answer. Sometimes we all just need to escape."

And with that Alfred bowed towards Arthur.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Kirkland."

O1O1O

"Hey Alfred, make sure you load those planes with fuel for the test run!"

"Sure thing Toris!" Alfred yelled back.

It had been six months since Alfred had been fired from the Fantasia. The one night with Arthur had set him back a month's worth of wages, and he had to scrap by by washing dishes and doing odd jobs here and there. But he had finally found his calling.

The Air Force.

Not only did he get to fulfill his life long dream of flying in the vast blue sky, but he was able to get a place to sleep and food to eat. He was a natural at flying, and he was switched up from his recruitment into an already into training gru0p.

His group was to ship out in a few days to fight in the War.

Alfred's mind wandered back to that one night he spent with Arthur. He sure as hell felt guilty, and he regretted leaving him like that.

"Escape…right…," he muttered to himself.

"Alfred F. Jones!" the commanding officer yelled.

"Present!" Alfred stood at attention in front of the officer. The gruff man handed Alfred a manila envelope and a dress uniform.

"What's this sir?" Alfred asked.

"You've got orders. You're being transferred."

O1O1O

_Well this is weird…_Alfred thought to himself. All his guys were being sent straight into the war. What the hell was he doing at a RAF base?

"Jones!" He heard being called out.

"Right here sir. Can you tell me why I'm here?"

The British officer gave an odd look to Alfred.

"Hmm…well because of 'special circumstances', you were requested to be transferred here."

"Special fucking circumstances? What the hell's that supposed to-"

Alfred immediately shut up when he saw a shorter man walk into his view, staring at him with oh so familiar green eyes.

"Arthur-" He was immediately grabbed by the wrist and pulled outside. When they were out of earshot, Alfred turned to Arthur.

"What the fuck are you doing in the army-"

But his question was cut off as his lips were met with Arthur's in a sudden kiss. It took Alfred by surprise, but he immediately fell into the warmth and kissed back fervently.

Alfred and Arthur finally broke apart for air.

Arthur stared into Alfred's blue eyes again for the first time in six months. He gave Alfred a light slap to the cheek and smiled.

"You're a git. Just like you said Alfred, we all need to escape. And this is my way of doing it."

It took Alfred a few moments to process this, but when it finally clicked, he flashed that sunny Arthur missed so much.

"Well then, here's to our escape."

And their lips met again.

O-O-O-O

_This story was set in 1940s New York City. A time's way into the American entrance into WW11._

And that, my dear readers, is just one way to escape.

_How would you escape?_


End file.
